


The Verses of Brother Teleren

by ead13



Category: Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Discrimination, Gen, Poetry, Templar class, character's thoughts on events, intersection of religion and politics, life without a soul, priest of Auri-el
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24669556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ead13/pseuds/ead13
Summary: Brother Teleren has never been a "normal" Altmer thanks to his unusual skin tone, and life has left him few choices. Being a priest in the Temple of Auri-El wasn't so terrible, really. He had plenty of time for his artistic pursuits, even if he was tucked away in the back.It turns out that Auri-El has bigger plans for him then he ever dreamed of. Now missing his soul thanks to Mannimarco and Molag Bal, he finds himself at the center of a plan to halt the Planemeld and save all of Nirn from domination. What's more, he has to come to terms with his Altmer heritage and what it means to walk among the living as a Vestige.As it has always been, his art is his coping mechanism.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Prayer of Despair

**Author's Note:**

> Why is no one writing in this segment of the Elder Scrolls franchise? Do the MMO people not like to write? The way I see it, things are so open-ended that there is plenty of room to create! Being able to see all these regions that have only ever been mentioned is so much fun to me (and note that I am a console gamer, so I only have vague experience with Oblivion and a TON of Skyrim experience), and having more lore to draw from, even if people find it shallow in comparison to the main games, is still fun to sift through and incorporate in my writing!
> 
> So, I got started with the ESO due to being a teacher with a lack of summer employment (ay, Coronavirus!). I figured I could play enough during the next three months to be worth paying in for an account. I want to make the most of it and have some fun with new characters.

Auri-El, have you forsaken me?  
The gloom draws ever nigh.  
Though despair doth grip my heart,  
I cannot seem to cry.

Is it that I’m dead? Or that  
I am no longer whole?  
It feels like something’s missing,   
Some part that Molag stole.

Caged in the heart of darkness,  
Screams of agony fill my ear.  
Is this the fate that’s meant for me  
As my time draws ever near?

Where then is your radiance  
In this cold, unhallowed place?  
Does Auri-El not have control  
Of every time and space?

My Lord, come to Cold Harbor,  
Come to set the innocent free!  
We chose not such a master,  
Such cruelty should not be!

Save your servant, loyal, true  
If indeed you truly can.  
Or is Oblivion just too far  
From the reach of your saving hand?

I served you in life, I served you in death,  
I served Auri-El to my dying breath.  
I know I’m an imperfect mer,  
But am I loved? Now I’m unsure.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

That sounded about right, he thought as he set the quill down. It was hard to keep the words he’d composed while languishing in that Cold Harbor prison in his mind through his daring escape, but this seemed close enough to capturing the original sentiment. Of course, no words could ever fully convey the horror of being in the realm of the Daedric Lord of Domination, even if he wasn’t feeling somehow…hollow. He glared at the paper beneath him. The words didn’t do justice to the situation, and yet it went deeper than that. Sure, he could remember the experience (and did he wish he could forget!), but it held no visceral grip on him the way it ought to. His poetry seemed as wooden as he felt. Hopefully that would wear off soon?

Having finally committed his poem to paper, he began to pack up what few belongings he was able to scrounge from Coldharbor and the dusty ruined tower in which he found himself. Any pieces of armor he’d been able to acquire were mismatched, and he felt a fool for it as he put them on once more. Then again, what did it matter? He should be used to people giving him strange glances.

He paused his actions, looking down at his hands in the dim light. Not even a trip to Oblivion and back had changed the strange, almost green-ish hue of his dark skin. He’d been nearly certain at the time he composed his poem that Auri-El didn’t consider him a true child of his, looking the way he did. It was the nagging voices of his childhood bullies, reminding him that he was different, mocking him and claiming his mother had whored herself with a Maormer that he should have such a skin tone. It was his father’s resigned voice as he explained how he would never be able to find a wife or have children due to his “less than desirable” traits. It was apologetic voice of the head priest at the temple, reminding him to complete some behind-the-scenes task before the temple opened to visitors.

But that was wrong. Auri-El had proved his love for him by sending that living woman to break him out of that cell, and The Prophet whose magic got them back to Nirn. He had not been abandoned in his time of need. The poem wasn’t his finest work, but he wanted to keep it for his personal collection. He didn’t want to forget this moment of religious struggle as he grew in his faith.

Now, the next big question: where was he?


	2. On the Divine Nature of Truth

The light of Auri-El burns bright.  
There’s no room in his radiance for deception,  
Exposed in the rays of the sun.  
No lie remains hidden in his sight.

And so I grew up an honest mer.  
Ask me a question, I’ll tell you true.  
Though you may not like what I may say,  
My words are virtuous and pure.

A lie only trips one up in time,  
Growing like vines, a Daedric snare  
You trap yourself, the web grows tangled,  
And at last the world comprehends your crime.

So why does the world continue to deceive?  
Such a practice in the long run fails!  
And why is it that when I speak my truth  
The world refuses to believe?

(And despite that honesty is a virtue,  
Why does wielding it end up causing pain?  
Lies are a sin, yet they might have spared  
Some suffering? I didn’t mean to hurt you.)

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

Teleren nearly struck the last stanza from the paper. No. There was no compromising on the point, one he had grown up with and internalized and lived out. He had been doing enough second-guessing lately! He wasn’t going to sink to lying just because times were tough.

Yet the Khajiit’s words haunted him, the words shared upon the beach when he’d staggered from the tower: He believed his tale of Oblivion, words clean as the ocean breeze, but no one else would. That was understandably a far-fetched story, but here he couldn’t even convince a Thalmor officer that the bag of skooma was not his! She remained convinced to the end that he was guilty, and only let him walk because he’d turned over the product. All his honesty had gotten was a brother and sister arrested without mercy. He hadn’t wanted that. He thought that if he explained, the officer would go for the source of the real problem, the bandits, and not the sister who made a bad decision out of desperation and the brother who went to lengths far too extreme to stop her.

He had done the right thing, so why did it feel like he’d done the wrong thing?

He gripped the pen tighter, but fought the urge to scribble over those final words. Perhaps they would not be published with the rest, but they should serve as a reminder in his private collection. Auri-El save him, what if the Khajiit was right? What if he had to lie, because the lies were more believable than the truth? They were already on to him, not recognizing him from among their crew… Was there really no other way?


	3. A Study of Contrasts: Khenarthi's Roost

White sand,  
Azure waters.  
Gulls soar high in a sky  
Even bluer than lapping waves.  
Tranquil.

Debris  
Strewn on the beach,  
Personal items, and  
The skeletal remains of ships.  
Somber.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

“What are you writing?”

Teleren snapped his notebook shut, startled at the sound of the Bosmer’s voice. The notebook had been the only thing he’d asked for in exchange for his help rescuing shipwrecked sailors from Sea Viper pirates. The heavy armor they’d offered him wasn’t exactly his style after all. “I was just observing the cruel contrast between man and nature, destruction and beauty.” 

The sergeant scratched her head. “I suppose that makes sense. In a way. I guess what matters is that thanks to you, we have the luxury of time to contemplate such things. We’ve stopped whatever storm ritual those Maormer were brewing, and we’ve got five of our men back on their feet. Still…” She frowned, squinting at him. “I don’t recall ever seeing you before in our ranks, and with skills like yours, you’d think I’d remember you.”

He’d hoped, given the chaos of the hurricane, that he could slip unnoticed through the ranks. The Thalmor agent from before had proved this hope unlikely, and now the questions were coming again. How could he reconcile the truth? “I’m actually a priest,” he offered finally. That was no lie. Too bad he’d lost his amulet of Auri-El somewhere in Cold Harbor…

“Ah. That would explain the light magic then.”

“Yes. I was trained as a Templar should the need ever arise to combat daedric elements. Turns out the Aedric spear works just as well on pirates as it does on daedra.”

This earned a chuckle from the sergeant. “Damn right. You’ve got to be the most bad-ass priest I’ve ever seen!”

Well, that was certainly a first. Life in Vulkhel Guard didn't give him many chances to be a bad-ass. The most exciting thing he had ever done with all those years of Templar training was put down a few scamps that got loose when a novice was practicing conjuration unsupervised. Sure, maybe fighting marauders wasn't in his traditional job description, but Auri-El must have wanted him to stop the heathens from carrying out blood-sacrifice for their ill-intentioned rituals. As long as he didn't make a habit of playing superhero, letting this go to his head, there would be no harm.


	4. The Sacrifice of Master and Student

The two confront an awful choice:  
One shall go and one shall stay  
To bind an ancient evil away.  
But does she have a voice?

But she is young, she has no role,  
Where his gifts are too many to count.  
It should be she trapped in the fount  
Should victory be the goal.

But nay, he’s seen his summers fly,  
And winters, he can’t recall.  
He’s had his time, the leaves now fall,  
She has no cause to cry.

But silent tears, they fall like rain,  
Though she keeps a steady voice.  
She knows she must accept his choice  
Despite her growing pain.

The student mourns the teacher,  
The teacher accepts his fate.  
Sacrifice a noble trait,  
If only he could reach her.

Don’t despair, young protégé,  
Hope springs eternal here.  
The day to save him may draw near,  
You will return one day.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

Teleren looked to his left to observe the withdrawn apprentice, seated clutching her knees on her bedroll. The poor girl had done her duty, done as commanded, but he knew from experience that such a thing rarely helped one feel better. He set down his journal and moved closer to her side.

“I may not have made this clear, Gathwen, but if you ever need to talk, I am always available.”

“Hmph, was that part of your job as a priest?” she mumbled without looking up.

“Oh no. They never let me talk to anyone. As you may have observed, I lack traditional Altmer beauty, making me unfit to represent Auri-El. At least, that was the opinion of the Altmer running the show. I like to think Auri-El feels otherwise.” Funny how he could say that with a smile now. It must be the fact that he was numb to it after so many years.

She looked up, as if considering his appearance for the first time. He doubted she could see much in the growing dusk, particularly where the tint of his skin was concerned. She wrinkled her nose. “Actually? You look fine. And even if you didn’t, that shouldn’t give anyone an excuse to act like that.”

“Well, being what it is, I offer my services as a comrade, not as a professional counselor.”

“I see.” She lapsed into silence, the seconds dragging on. Teleren was about to give up and go back to his make-shift cot, provided to him at the camp in Eagle’s Strand by grateful soldiers, when she finally spoke. “I wasn’t ready yet. He still had so much to teach me…”

Teleren reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as she buried her head in her arms. “Rurelion had great confidence in you. I know it’s hard, but at least he was able to sacrifice himself with a smile, knowing you would go on to surpass him one day. It gives him comfort in his prison.”

“What if I let him down?”

“Did you abandon him when he was first captured?”

She looked up with a scowl. “Of course not!”

“Right. You were loyal to him. You could never let him down if for no other reason than that.”

Gathwen fell silent once more. Finally, she murmured, “Are you sure you have no experience in grief counseling? You are quite good at it.”

As he made his way to bed, he couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to have a relationship like Gathwen and Rulundil. It wasn’t as if he had been unloved; his parents loved him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have mentors; the priests at the temple were always kind. But did anyone truly know the core of him? Believe in him with unyielding faith?

Only Auri-El, and Auri-El was silent.


	5. Ja-Kha'jay

Riddle’Thar and the Ja-Kha’jay  
They are not gods, but they are a way.  
Life, a maze, and death the end,  
On only yourself can you depend.  
But not just death; to find your role,  
With realizing self the goal.  
The twists and turns are up to you,  
And how much joy you can accrue.  
I watch the motions of their dance,  
Lose self in movement, fall to a trance.  
Because through harmony of mind  
And body, truth may be defined.

But to Auri-El, among gods, king,  
What does he think of such a thing?  
Can such a practice be reconciled?  
Or is the difference to be reviled?

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

There was something calming in their motions, smooth like the waves on the sand (when there were no hurricanes blowing, of course; that was still a sore topic). Under the light of Jode and Jone, as these Khajiit called the moons, he could see perfectly well and was able to write as he sat in contemplation on the temple balcony. Sleep had been eluding him anyhow, and it felt as though these Khajiit were naturally nocturnal, basking in the light of their beloved moons. It gave him an excuse to take it all in.

Curious, he had spoken to the elder of the Temple of Two Moons Dancing, trying to figure out what exactly these Khajiit believed after a mother and son referenced the temple. The fine line of justice and vengeance, and we learn to walk that edge, she had said. Her son had more training to do. Azir Traba- Oh, he couldn’t remember the word she had used. Something in the native language that his clumsy tongue could not reproduce.

That was just it though. Everything about Khenarthi’s Roost felt like being in another world. He had seen Khajiit before, or else this would be a very rude shock. Vulkhel Guard had opened its ports recently with the creation of the Aldmeri Dominion, so he’d seen a few in the markets in the last few years. It had given him a chance to get past the tails and the fur. Still, there was something to be said for seeing a foreign people in their natural environment. Auri-El was nowhere to be found on this island. It made him wonder how an alliance would work when they did not all believe the same things. 

At least, from what the priest had told him, Ja-Kha’jay was a harmless belief, more personal in nature rather than a deity to supplant Auri-El. The more shocking part of that conversation had been when the priest looked him dead in the eyes and made a passing comment about how death was not the end of his maze. He knew that Teleren was lacking his life force. It was unsettling.

It was enough to make the Altmer wonder, if Ja-Kha’jay was something that could work as a personal philosophy of living alongside traditional religious beliefs, what was the end of his maze? He certainly hadn’t been finding many sweets within…


	6. Green Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've tried to do some digging to better understand what it means to be a Vestige. A lot of the threads I've pulled up are very complicated and dig into lore beyond the games themselves (depending on one's definition of lore). Basically, I'm devising my own definition of Vestige to make sense to me. You may or may not agree with some of the premises I outline in this segment, but (shrugs) it works for me.

Green Lady, Lady of Death  
Loosed like an arrow to the heart of her foe.  
They’ve broken hers, now they must die.

Green Lady, Lady of Wrath  
Like the hurricane they’d tried to conjure  
If she would die, she’d die covered in blood.

Green Lady, Lady of Vengeance  
Like justice’s hand that those fools have forced.  
No simpering noblewoman is she that would accept her fate.

Green Lady, Lady of Love  
Now like a puzzle incomplete  
They’ve killed her soulmate and left her undone.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

“There you are, the hero of the hour!”

Teleren had been sitting on the sands near the docks trying to sort out his thoughts on the entire, sordid evening. Still, the sound of Razum’dar’s voice was a welcome distraction. “I would not go that far. All I really did was keep the Green Lady from murdering the ambassador.”

“No small feat. The woman had gone positively feral. Who can blame her?”

“It’s incredible, really, the deep bond she shared with the Silvenar.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Hey, Razum-dar, can I tell you a secret?”

His Khajiit ally’s tail twitched. “Hasn’t this one taught you that secrets are for guarding?”

Teleren scoffed. “I’m no man of mystery like you. I’m just a priest. Our whole job is to unravel the secrets of the universe and to listen to the secrets of others.”

“Fine, fine,” Raz waved. “What is this thing you must share?”

“I can only tell you, because you are the only one that knows about the whole ‘lost soul’ thing. The truth is, this whole affair should have me livid. I should sympathize with the Green Lady until it hurts, and mourn the loss of such a kind mer as the Silvenar. I don’t feel what I’m supposed to.”

“Is that so strange? There are many who work hard to destroy such tendencies within themselves. Raz may be such a one.”

“Yes, but again, I am no hardened warrior, I am an artist! This loss of feeling, for lack of a better word, is entirely unsettling. If I could feel unsettled, which I can’t. I guess disorienting?”

Raz studied him for a moment. “Had your feelings remained intact, you may have let the Green Lady murder our only source of information, yes? There are bright sides to your situation.”

“Right. Like how Uldor refused to wear my body because it felt wrong. Also, there is the fact that I may not need to eat or sleep anymore.”

The Khajiit wrinkled his snout in confusion. “Come again?”

“I was eating at first, but when I got busy helping around the island, I sort of forgot about eating. It didn’t impact me at all. In fact, I never became hungry, or thirsty for that matter. And even though I lay down to sleep at night, I never sleep. At this point I’ve given up trying.”

“A veritable super-soldier!” Raz’s eyes lit up.

“I’m a priest!”

“I know, you’ve only said it how many times? Just…consider the possibilities…”

“No, Raz. When this is done, we sail back to Vulkhel Guard and I rejoin my order.” Hopefully, the Prophet would have figured something out by then, so his savior could be freed and he could get his soul back. Things needed to return to normal.

Then again…was his normal life all that great?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the soul is the life force, and you don't have one, you are not alive. If you are not alive, you cannot die (more on that later). I imagine the Vestige got this vessel for their mind and will that can exist on Nirn, but without that spark of life is just a husk that will not age or otherwise deteriorate. That is why eating and sleeping are not necessary. Sorry for getting so deep there.


	7. Veiled Heritance

Vile and villainous  
Exacting their perceived “justice”  
In conformity, glory  
Living lies, pretending to be loyal  
Every non-Altmer is less  
Dividing the nation when we need unity

Hateful and harmful  
Entrenched in a conservative society  
Rallying against the Dominion  
Instigating rebellion  
Traitors to the Queen  
Allies are beneath us  
Nobility should control all  
Crush all who threaten their status quo  
Extreme superiority complex

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVv

“Put down that book and come to dinner!” His mother laughed, a sound he held near and dear to his heart. “Honestly, some things never change, do they?”

“Well, I have a lot to sift through after a day like today,” Teleren countered, but he obeyed. Even if food no longer mattered to his survival, he had no intention of revealing his condition to his parents. They worried enough about him. As far as he’d told them, he’d been away to Khenarthi’s Roost to assist in stopping the storm rituals as a representative of the priesthood. Wouldn’t Razum-dar be proud of his deception…

She fairly glowed with pride, though it may have been the glow of the lamplight on her perfectly golden skin. “Your father and I are so proud of you, Teleren! Saving the life of the queen and foiling a coup…”

“If she’d have deferred to Naemon, this wouldn’t have happened.” Both turned to the source of the new voice: Teleren’s older sister. “She forfeited her right to rule when she ran off gallivanting and cavorting with who-knows-what kind of lesser beings.”

“Valeri…” his mother warned, but the young woman waved it off.

“This is just the start of a long string of problems, mark my words.”

“Which is why she’s asked me to assist her further. I am to join her at Tanzelwil as part of her personal escort,” Teleren responded quietly.

Ignoring Valeri entirely, his mother clasped her hands in delight. “What a promotion!”

But Valeri would not be ignored. “You’d best watch yourself, brother. Don’t get caught up in the oncoming storm. Only ill will befall Ayrenn, and I wouldn’t want to have you involved.”

Teleran squinted suspiciously at his sister. He wasn’t petty, at least he was fairly certain he wasn’t. Valeri had the classic Altmer looks: golden skin, green eyes, silver hair, an elegantly tall frame… Her life had been much, much easier than his own, only compounded by the fact that in addition to marrying above her station, she would inherit his parents’ clothing business. Her words were spoken as one who knew nothing of the struggles of the unprivileged. Too much like the Veiled Heritance.

“With all due respect, Valeri, she is a leader I would be happy to follow. She honors the strength that differences provide, and she knows the ways of the world better than any royalty before her by escaping her ivory tower. Besides, her detractors are the sort that would have seen me killed in my crib. Surely you are not so naïve as to ignore that part of their philosophy…”

“Children! Can’t we just have a nice family dinner!” his mother cried in exasperation. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been together.”

“Of course, mother.” Valeri’s voice was silk. He knew by now that she would have their mother wrapped around her finger in seconds. “I have missed you terribly. Nirenor has kept me so busy…” And just like that, her arm was linked in her mother’s, and they were walking away, leaving Teleren alone.

He growled in frustration. Between her beauty and her inheritance, Valeri had earned a “good” match in Nirenor, who was of a slightly higher class, though a younger son. While she’d never been entirely empathetic towards him, he could see the sort of poisonous ideas his brother-in-law was putting into her head. He was afraid this was only going to get worse.

Perhaps protecting Ayrenn was not part of his priesthood training, but it felt as though he had a vested interest in keeping her alive and on the throne. She would defend people like him.


	8. The Will of Auri-El

Auri-El, have I done thy will?  
I was forced to kill in your holy hall.

Evil’s band had forced my hand,  
To defend this land I struck them down.

The spear of my God, light-formed rod  
Where acolytes trod, their blood was spilt.

Betrayal and lies behind innocent guise…  
Auri-El wise surely must condemn! 

I realize I lean towards serving my Queen,  
If Thou should deem such service righteous.

Auri-El, have I done thy will?  
I know not still if this path is true.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

Teleren sighed and closed the journal. This entire day had been a mess, worthy of multiple reflections. 

On one hand, there was anger (as much as his soulless form could conjure) towards a group of dissidents turned treacherous. Sure, that element of Altmer society had always existed: the elitist, the classist, the racist… Those who supported Naemon and his adherence to the old traditions that “maintained a golden age” of Altmer society. What they had done today, however, was going way too far. The way the guard captain had so easily lied to him, then thrown him to the wolves without a hint of remorse was quite frankly terrifying. Not only that, but the steward and a faithful spy to the queen were dead, never mind that they intended the same for him. All that malevolence, and for why? Because they thought the queen was irresponsible and open-minded?

It was a good thing he’d picked up on the captain’s distaste for Ayrenn early on, and knew better than to get too close. Without those instincts that told him to run, he may be rotting in jail while Ayrenn was assassinated. The captain had certainly tried to knock him senseless. Thank Auri-El that he knew the streets of Vulkhel Guard so well, weaving in and out of alleys to escape pursuit. Also, that he kept a spare set of priest robes at his parents’ house, allowing him to sneak into the courtyard under their noses.

On the other hand, he still felt a degree of confusion about this turn of events. His role with the Prophet was one thing; fighting Daedra was clearly a task fit for a priest, never mind that Nirn as they knew it might end. Getting involved in politics, though… That was a messy business. If religion and politics mixed, the holiest places in the sight of Auri-El would be defiled by corruption. It was so hard to tell when a cause was just or simply a matter of differing opinion. He THOUGHT fighting the Veiled Heritage was worthy, at least for today due to the evil they demonstrated, but now Ayrenn wanted him to accompany her further. Should he really accept such an invitation?

All he knew was that tomorrow, he would be paying the Prophet a visit. He’d received some kind of telepathic summons earlier that day, which clearly got swept aside in the chaos. Hopefully there would be good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I was mad that in the game you just get knocked out by the captain. I saw that coming a mile away! No way she was going to get a swing on me when I already questioned her motives from our first conversation! I varied it up a bit, which worked because Teleren is from Vulkhel Guard.


	9. The Lay of the Five Companions

The fabled Companions Five,  
That glorious band of yore…  
If any among them survive,  
They’re rent as the Veil that they tore.

Their leader, Emperor Aquilarius  
With no divinely given throne  
Yearned for confirmation, was curious  
How Akatosh could make him his own.

Tharn, his councilor, came along  
Sure that his skills were needed.  
What harm would pass if they were wrong?  
And more power if they succeeded!

Lyris, Varen’s protector true  
Never parted from his side.  
Battle-wise, and mighty too,  
From peril never shied.

Sai Sahan of the burning sand  
Likewise offered aid.  
He accompanied this secret band  
Brandishing razor-sharp blade.

But one among them had dark designs,  
Thought to turn the Daedra loose.  
Mannimarco, enemy of the Divines  
Concocted the entire ruse.

The Amulet burned in Varen’s hand,  
And he disappeared without a trace.  
Lyris and Sai fell, as he planned,  
And Tharn begged for the Worm King’s grace.

The fabled Companions Five,  
That glorious band of yore…  
If any among them survive,  
They’re rent as the Veil that they tore.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

“So, what do you think, Prophet?” Teleren asked after reading it aloud for his blind companion. “If we win the day, the people should know what happened. Of course, I’d expand upon it, perhaps turn it into a complete epic. This is just a rough sketch.”

The frail man had to give a dry chuckle at his enthusiasm. “I had no idea you were a wordsmith, Vestige…”

“Please, call me Teleren. Calling me Vestige just seems so…ominous.”

“Indeed. Well, Teleren, I feel that Abnur Tharn will not like the role you gave him.”

This earned a snort. “He has no right to decide how others feel about him. If he cared, he should consider his actions more carefully.”

“Well, as you say, he cares very little for the opinion of others. The rest of it…” The Prophet paused, sighing deeply. “It gives a sense of melancholy. Perhaps because I am too close to the source. That doesn’t make it worth any less, however. The bad of the world must be memorialized so that it is not repeated.”

“True. I just hope…well, I want to be able to finish it. If what you said is true, and I am an anomaly that should not exist, and if this makeshift body loses form without the spark of life within…” Absent-mindedly, he began to leaf through the pages of his journal, just to hear the comforting sound of paper. “I will record as much as I can with this borrowed time that I have.”


	10. The Authors of History

How will they remember you, Veiled Heritance?

Will you be the saviors of Summerset that you imagine?  
Will your Veiled Queen bring order to the isles?  
Will your descendants sing your praises for driving out foreigners,  
And say that regicide was a necessary evil?  
Perhaps if you are the ones to write the history books…

But if the people knew the truth,  
They’d know you as terrorists and murderers,  
They’d know how you killed innocents to make your point,  
They’d know how you made deals with our enemies, the Maormer  
And twisted reality to paint the queen ill.

You are no saviors,  
Your Veiled Queen brings chaos,  
The common man falls along with the foreigners,  
And this uncalled for attempt at regicide  
Brings death to more than the Queen herself.

We must win the day so they remember you truly.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

The page would be stained with the smell of smoke, having sat to compose his poem in the midst of the still-smoldering buildings of Silsailen. Remarkable. This group, this Veiled Heritance, was not just a small contingent of unhappy nobles and royal servants in Vulkhel Guard. The measures they had taken here, as well as at the coast, were beyond what he had imagined they might take just because they didn’t like the person on the throne.

His eyes roamed the destruction. Even now, the townspeople that had fled were returning, working to put out fires and remove debris so they could begin to rebuild. The true marines, the ones ambushed, captured, impersonated, and left to die in a burning building helped alongside them. All this, just so Ayrenn would look bad as “her soldiers” caused chaos! 

Paired with the group’s actions at the lighthouse, the picture being painted was grim. The net they cast was wide. Of course, if the Maormer were actually stupid enough to believe these snobbish malcontents would make a deal with them, they had it coming. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were both thinking of playing each other, and the only losers would be the people of Auridon. As it was, he’d had to blow up a lighthouse just to stop a Maormer invasion as the Veiled Heritance fed them patrol routes. 

As he continued to observe, he noticed that one figure was conspicuously absent: Elenwen, the innkeeper. He couldn’t fault her for that. The Veiled Heritance had deceived and betrayed a great many people, but to have your own father be the betrayer, your own father destroy his own town and harm the people he was supposed to protect… It was no fault of hers, but she’d always carry some guilt anyways, and a perpetual question of “why”.

For whatever reason, this made him think of Valeri. The way she spoke the last time they were together bordered on treasonous, always dancing just shy of the edge. She seemed to forget her roots as a commoner. Would she still speak the same if she saw just what the Veiled Heritance was doing? Would he end up betrayed by a family member too?


	11. For Lyris

They call you a brute, and you take the bait,  
So used to having to defend yourself  
From the stereotypes,  
From the taunts against your bloodline.  
Snapping back is a reflex now.

If only they knew  
A little girl growing up without a mother,  
And a distant father who loved in silence.  
A world of isolation amidst swirling snow.  
She died giving birth to you.  
You felt the guilt.

If only they knew  
Being the butt-end of jokes because of your race,  
Pranks that were cruel and not funny  
As your commander reamed you out for a crime not yours.  
Your face burned as you ran your laps.  
You felt the shame.

If only they knew  
How the resentment festered though you stayed your hand.  
You climbed your way to the top through your own merit,  
The sword-arm of the Emperor himself,  
And yet his advisors continue to mock and jeer.  
You felt the fury.

She-troll.  
Half-breed.  
Muzzle your pet…  
You are no beast, but a woman!  
A woman to be respected as you overcome your adversity.  
A woman I am happy to call my friend.  
Let’s face those voices together you and I  
And silence them once and for all.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

Satisfied, Teleren tore out the paper and folded it before placing it into Lyris’s satchel.

“What are you doing, Teleren?” Lyris was seated across from him, working to tune a lute that the Prophet had somehow acquired in his hovel. No surprise that she needed something to calm her, to take her mind off of her torment in Cold Harbor. They had just returned to the Harborage, and Teleren insisted on staying to prepare them a meal before leaving, despite the fact that he didn’t need to eat. The Prophet was all skin and bones, and Lyris could no doubt use some nourishment even though time had no meaning in Oblivion. He’d sat down to write once the stew pot was boiling.

“Just something for you to read later,” he replied airily, returning to his spot by the fire.

“Should I be worried?”

“No. It’s not a love letter or anything so scandalous.” He turned back to the stew, stirring gently. “You play the lute, huh?”

“Yes. I learned when I was young, a way to pass the time.”

“You should perform for that Tharn idiot. It might boggle his mind that you have such cultured pastimes.” He said it in such a way that made her snicker rather than grimace at the name, and when he launched into an impersonation in the next breath, she actually clutched her sides in laughter. “What? You can teach a bear to play the lute? But all my research indicates this to be impossible! It must be some manner of chicanery…” Pretty good, he thought, having seen only two projections of the insufferable man.

“Must you pick on Tharn so?” The Prophet sighed from his chair across the way.

“Yes!” the two of them chorused enthusiastically. 

Because Tharn was needlessly cruel with his words, and that Lyris had to deal with them, Teleren could sympathize. After all, he shared a similar background. They were both ostracized for their physical appearance, for looking “unusual” even among their race. He had to admit that he was unused to seeing eye-to-eye with a non-Altmer, her blood of giants giving her incredible height, even for a Nord. The difference was that while Teleren was all gangly limbs, Lyris was tall while also being a wall of solid muscle that could snap him in half. Not that she would. When he looked at her, he saw the warmth of gratitude in her eyes, as if unused to someone else standing up for her.

The Prophet sighed again, shaking his head, but there was a trace of a smile. “Just remember that doing so to his face will lead to quite the altercation.”

“Insult my superior? Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lyris promised, rolling her eyes. Then, she began to pluck out a tune on the lute. He was happy to see that she was likewise fighting a smile. It was nice to have a happy moment for once.


	12. Prayer to the Ancestors

Oh venerated ancestors,  
I know the prayer of a humble priest  
Pales in comparison to that of the Queen herself  
As she kneels among these ruins.  
Still, I offer it should you deign to pay me any mind.  
I have seen much today.  
Done much today.  
Put your souls back to rest in holy Tanzelwil.  
I pray that your all-seeing eyes detect the truth  
Of each event that transpired here.  
Peering into the hearts of mer,  
Can you see the intentions in each?  
The ones that call themselves “pure”  
Resorting to foul necromancy to control you,  
And the one that fights against your traditions  
Earnestly trying to gain your blessing.  
From what my mortal eyes see,  
The truth and the outward appearance are flipped.  
I do not seek to tell you what is what,  
As you know far more than me in your spiritual form.  
All I ask is that you share a sign,  
Confirm what I suspect  
And let the world know who is in the right.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

He’d expected another assassination attempt, honestly. The Queen arriving at these isolated ruins, even with an entourage in the background, was a ripe opportunity for it. He did not expect something more subtle, though equally disturbing: rituals binding the spirits of the honored ancestors to obey the will of the caster. And the one spear-heading the effort was none other than an advisor of the Queen herself. Another snake in the grass revealed for what he was… Teleren felt a bit guilty to admit it, but after how rude he had been to him back in Vulkhel Guard, having to cut him done was not nearly as troubling as it should have been for a priest of Auri-El!

But things were finally set right and the rituals terminated. The spirits no longer attacked on sight, and Queen Ayrenn was able to commune with them as intended. Their answer would now be an honest one and not manipulated. He remained nearby, writing his prayer as he waited for her to finish.

Her steps echoed in the stone corridor, announcing her arrival. “It is done.”

Teleren rose to his feet. “And their verdict?”

She smiled. It was no smug smile, nothing that belied a sense of entitlement, but rather one of relief. “They offered their blessing. They also told me to deliver a message to you. I have no idea what it means, but I guess you should know.”

“What is that?”

“They say you see things truly, and should not worry.” The Queen shrugged. “What I do understand is that they thank you again for your help in freeing them. I must say, given all the purifying involved today, Auri-El must have sent me a priest for my retinue deliberately. You have been a great blessing to me and to the dead here.”

Such praise, coming from the Queen of all people… He felt himself blushing, though thankfully the glowing crystals didn’t provide enough light for this to be visible on his dark skin. “I was glad to serve my Lord and my Queen. And…” He bowed his head respectfully. “I hope to be of further use to you in the future.” The ancestors had confirmed it. His path was just. He felt all the more confident in his decision to support Ayrenn after today.

“I appreciate that offer, Brother Teleren. I do believe I will take you up on that in the future, particularly if the Veiled Heritance continues this kind of madness with spiritual tampering. Now, come. We should reunite with our retinue, and celebrate our success with a good dinner, don’t you think?”


	13. The Monsters of Phaer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to apologize that I keep changing how I spell Vulkhel Guard. I think I fixed it all now, I have no idea why that is so hard to spell!

The monster of Phaer was found in a ruin.  
Rather than killed, he’d been turned.  
He questioned the reason his sire allowed this,  
While slaking his thirst as it burned.

He found his reason in the alchemist’s son,  
A kind and innocent soul.  
The rush he got from such corruption  
Rivaled the blood that he stole.

The new monster of Phaer was found in a mine,  
Where his father had hid him away.  
No longer kind, he demanded his blood,  
And his father just had to obey.

(some scribbles; it appears that Teleren starts over, unhappy with his first attempt)

The original monster of Phaer  
Called the ruins of Ondil his lair.  
A creature of night,  
He spread his blight  
To the son of the alchemist there.

The second monster of Phaer  
Was just “sick” and needed some care.  
He drank blood like fine wine,  
On the villagers dined,  
The gifts that his father would bear.

For the ultimate monster of Phaer  
Was the worst without any compare.  
He promised a cure,  
With a smile he’d lure  
Them all to their doom. Friend, beware!

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

If he had a soul, he imagined this whole ordeal at Phaer would make him nauseous enough to vomit. It was only his disconnect that gave him the ability to deliver his judgement: lock the alchemist Hendil up and let him suffer in misery for the rest of his days. It was not easy, especially when the mother of one of his victims pleaded for him to look the other way so she could murder him. Death would be too easy, though. Death would be sweet release for a monster of Hendil’s caliber. Because surely he had to know he wasn’t going to save all those people he threw in the mines for Tancano, right? He had to know his son drained them and killed them rather than simply turning them to thralls!

That was the worst of it. You expected the monster with fangs and blood-red eyes. No one had expected the person they believed to be helping them be their executioner. A breach of medical trust… It made Teleren’s skin crawl thinking that he’d actually gathered the plants for the salve used to drug victims for the mine. He may never forgive himself if it hadn’t been for the fact that two of the victims didn’t get taken by the time he broke in, and the one that did, he had been able to save. Auri-El cleanse him of this mess! It was something that would no doubt please Molag Bal.

At least he had found the source of the vampiric curse and slain him in the nearby ruins. Auri-El’s light burned away the evil creature until he was a pile of ashes on the floor. The village of Phaer would no longer suffer.

He looked down to the page of his journal, where he had sketched two different ideas. It was horrible, really, but for some reason, the child-like rhyme scheme of the second one made such a delightfully dark contrast to the topic at hand… A warning for adults, in the form of a childhood poem. Beware the real monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really just write a limerick about such a dark set of quests? ...Yes. Yes I did. :P


	14. Mathiisen

When corruption takes the form of a daedra,  
Fighting it is a simple task.  
They cheer you as you smite  
The beasts with holy light.  
Return them to Oblivion from whence they came  
And spare Mundus of the havoc they sow.

When corruption takes the form of a mortal,  
You must first pull away the mask.  
Half will hate you,  
Loathe you, berate you  
Even though their evil is just as strong.  
And the suffering they cause just as powerful.

How then do you fix an entire village,  
Constructed on hate from the ground up?  
The leaders, their lackeys,  
Right down to the salesmen in the streets?

Hatred of the foreigners,  
Oppression, dangerous conditions, degradation,  
But those mongrels DESERVE such treatment.  
Then, those who resent their hiring for taking their jobs,  
As if it is the fault of the immigrants  
And not those who chose to hire them at a pittance wage  
Rather than pay fairly for experienced workers?  
When eyes are fixed solely on the bottom line,  
Evil thoughts fester.

So, they rely on the foreigners  
While telling the Queen to send them back.  
Traitors through and through,  
Veiled Heritance in the highest ranks.   
They’d see the foreigners become slaves outright,  
But in the meantime,  
They’ll just make them produce the steel  
Meant to undo the true queen.

I do not envy her for the decisions she will have to make  
To save Mathiisen.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

It felt like half of Auridon wanted Ayrenn dead, and always the half that had the means to make that a reality. Why, the entire forge town of Mathiisen was compromised to the Veiled Heritance, save the workers and a single foreman, who was actually quite a sympathetic woman. She was running the show now that the former forgemaster had been put down, along with his wife, the Canonreeve, and that parasite cousin who had been earning ten times what the workers made for “keeping the fire going” was now up to his neck in paperwork, doing actual work for half the coin. Oh, this would stir the fires of rebellion, all right, even if they had doused some flames today.

Two Canonreeves now discovered to be against Ayrenn, besides a captain of the guard in the biggest port city and her own advisor, Norion. They weren’t quite halfway across the island. He had a sneaking suspicion that the High Kinlady Estre of Skywatch was not a fan of her sister-in-law either. This whole good-will trip of Ayrenn’s was more like a death-trap. Could it be that the Queen was using it as a means of finding out who was disloyal in one fell swoop?

Such things were for Razum-dar to contemplate, not a simple mer like him. He tucked his journal away and pulled out a needle and thread. He needed to make some repairs to his armor after fighting the Canonreeve.

“Cloth armor in a forge town, stranger?”

He finished threading his needle before looking up to see a curious Khajiit standing nearby. “I grew up helping my parents run their clothier business. You learn a few tricks.”

“So you know a bit about the crafting trades then.” The stranger paused, tail flickering as he seemed to contemplate. “You have helped us, gotten rid of that corrupt Malanie and Condolin. May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do people like you, who worked in a craft…do you blame us for taking your jobs?”

Teleren blinked. “Personally, I have no experience with that. My parents’ business is still going strong without the kick-backs given by the Thalmor for hiring outside of Auridon. It’s not that they don’t want a Bosmer or Khajiit working for them, they are simply a family business, small-scale. And if it is any consolation, it is to be given to my elder sister, leaving me without prospects.” He shrugged. “I wish I could answer your question. I do think the fault here in Mathiisen was with the upper management, not with you. They paid you a bare-minimum wage, and used all the money they saved to funnel weapons to the Veiled Heritance at no cost. They were the ones firing Altmer to cut corners. Things should balance out now that we’ve rooted them out.”

“This one hopes so, but is afraid to hope.”

“I will speak to the Queen about managing Mathiisen the next time I see her.” Because what else could he do? He could throw spears of light and burn away evil, but when it came to rooting out the evil in mortals’ hearts…he was helpless.


	15. Mercy

I’ve stayed my hand  
To pry information from a wicked man.  
So easy it would have been  
To let her kill him then.  
Revenge was not so vital  
As knowing the plans to unfold.

I’ve stayed my hand  
To make suffer a monstrous man.  
So easy it would have been  
To let her kill him then.  
But living caused him agony,  
An agony he deserved to bear for his crimes.

Today I’ve stayed my hand  
To spare the life of a confused man.  
Too hard it would have been  
To let her kill him then.  
Stendarr knows it was all mercy,  
And I pray I made the right choice.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

He couldn’t help but ruminate on it even though there was nothing else to be done now. That mage, Merormo… He’d been warned, hadn’t he? Teleren had found the dismissal letter from Telenger laying around his tower. He’d read the letters in the Canonreeve’s office, about residents packing up and moving because of his stupid experiments. But that menace to society never learned! This time, several of his own apprentices were dead due to tinkering with the daedra and their effects on animals. The one surviving apprentice wanted his head on a platter, but he’d figured at the time that was between her and him.

The daedra fact alone should have been enough to condemn him.

But by Stendarr…his nephew gone to war. Using animals to fight to spare loved ones… That could have been a lie, thrown in as he pleaded for his life, but… Teleren had seen enough evil lately to deduce that despite being an idiot, Merormo was not evil. In fact, having Sanneselmo to compare him to… Now THAT man had intended to hurt people. Kidnapped them. Enjoyed toying with them. The worst Merormo had done was hide the truth and leave his apprentices to a task they were not fit for.

As a priest, wasn’t it in his nature to forgive? He deserved punishment, sure, but not death. That was Auri-El’s call to make, not a humble mortal, though for some reason these sorts of decisions kept being placed before him!

Stupid bears chasing him into this town… He should have just made his way to Skywatch!


	16. A Portrait of High Kinlady Estre

She looks down on the rest  
Even if she is shorter.  
She expects your obedience  
To her every order.

She wears the finest gowns  
Of satins and silk.  
She will only converse  
With those of her ilk.

Her skin, soft and golden,  
Adorned all in jewels.  
Outlanders and lowborn  
Are nothing but tools.

High Kinlady of Skywatch,  
The wife of a prince.  
Ayrenn came for her throne;  
She hasn’t smiled since.

She bites her tongue  
And she bides her time.  
She’s mastered this game  
And she’s in her prime.

All her power and riches,  
Yet she remains malcontent.  
I daresay she’d want more  
Though who knows the extent.

-Brother Teleren, Templar and Artisan of the Temple of Auri-El

“What exactly IS this new position within the Thalmor Ayrenn plans on giving Estre?” Teleren wondered absently as he blew the ink dry. He’d hastily scrawled his reflections on the High Kinlady he’d met downstairs as he waited for Razum-dar to arrive with news. At last, his ally came. Not taking the appearance he had been expecting, admittedly, and causing much confusion.

Razum-dar, disguised as a bearded Altmer noble, just shrugged. “This one thinks she’s just making it up to make Estre feel better.”

“She’s doing a LOT to make Estre feel better. Bending over backwards, really. I mean, I guess I can understand wanting to stay on her good side.” Teleren wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I can’t imagine what a piece of work she’d be in a bad mood.”

“She did not take the losing of her queenship well. That is no secret.”

“What about Naemon? Does he keep her in check, or does he agree?”

“Naemon is…hard to read. Estre’s passions rise to the surface, but Naemon is always schooling his reactions. Lots of talk about duty and such. Speaking of which…”

Teleren sighed. “Now what? Please tell me this duty won’t involve me getting knocked out again…”

Razum-dar removed the earring which was enchanted with the shape-shifting disguise, returning to his feline form. “Razum-dar doesn’t have it written into the plans at this point. Just sniff out the Veiled Heritance cell in the city before they hurt Ayrenn. This one must stay nearby.”

When exactly had he turned into a secret agent and bodyguard for the queen? As he affixed the earring, he pondered the sequence of events, from Vulkhel Guard to Skywatch. At first, it had been supernatural, yet somehow it was to a point where his priest background meant nothing. This was it. Ayrenn was, in his mind, a good queen, but he had a Planemeld to stop. He hadn’t left his home at the temple just to play mercenary or soldier.

**Author's Note:**

> True story, I have never been an Altmer before, mostly because I knew so little about them besides the hated Thalmor of Skyrim. When I was in character creation, I slid the cursor all the way over in the "dark" direction of skin tone and was surprised when it ended up looking vaguely...green. Just a hint, just enough to make you double-take. And that was enough to trigger inspiration for a character's story. We always hear about the privileged Altmer in lore, the ones writing the books, the ones with the money to travel, but what about an Altmer who doesn't live up to society's standard? What would life be like for that person? I'm gonna find out :)
> 
> Also true story, writing rhyming, metered(ish) poetry is hard! If I wasn't convinced that as an Altmer this would be the preferred style of poetry writing, I wouldn't torment myself like this lol.


End file.
